


The Stoop

by benji_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benji_writes/pseuds/benji_writes
Summary: Late at night, on the stoop of your building, you and Steve find each other.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	The Stoop

You met him in the cold. On the sidewalk, and in the wind, you were sitting on the stoop of your building with blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It was two in the morning. No cars were driving by, but the stoplights still changed from green to yellow – from yellow to red. 

That spot on the stoop was the only part of your building you liked. The walls were too thin, the neighbors too loud. There was only one window, and it didn’t even open halfway. But in a building that felt like it was falling apart, that stoop gave you somewhere sturdy. Something reliable. You could sit there whenever you wanted, and the stoplights would always change. 

The first thing you noticed about him was that he was wrong. All out of place. His coat looked too warm, his scarf too new. It was too dark to get a good look at him, but you could tell his hat was well made. You watched him step off the sidewalk and cross over to your side of the street. He looked tired, his movements slow, as he made his way into the 24 hour corner store two doors down from your apartment. The light had gone from green to red four times before he came back outside. He had what looked like a bag of snacks in one hand, and was holding onto a Charleston Chew with his teeth so he could shove the change into his coat pocket with the other. He was walking in your direction, past your stoop, still trying to multitask. He was mostly successful, but right after he passed your stoop, you watched as the cash he’d just shoved into his pocket fell out and onto the sidewalk. 

You let out a sigh, your whole body unhappy about the fact that you were about to get up from your comfy spot on the stairs. Picking the money up, you shouted after him, “Hey, guy!”

You couldn’t help but recoil at the loudness of your voice echoing off the buildings around you, and cringe at the fact that you’d actually just said _hey, guy_. He turned around immediately. The Charleston Chew was in his hand now, but you could see where he’d taken a bite out of it.

You held the money up for him to see, and let your voice soften now that you had his attention, “You dropped this.”

You watched him half jog back to where you stood, and rush to finish chewing and swallow so he could speak. He was handsome up close, and suddenly you were aware of the fact that you were wearing slippers and a blanket. You held the money out to him so he could take it once he reached you 

“Thank you, miss.” His voice was quiet, but scratchy. Like when you wake up in the middle of the night, throat dry, and aching for cold water. And when you walk into the kitchen to get some, your brother or sister or mom is already there at the counter asking what you’re doing up so late. And you speak, throat dry, to tell them you just wanted some water, but your voice comes out different than normal. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d woken up, throat dry, with an ache for something comforting. And as if driven by force, got dressed in the dark of his home, and walked to the closest place open, searching for company in a bar of chocolate or a pack of pretzels. The way he looked at you made you think you might be right. He was paying attention now. Finally noticing the world outside of him. You tugged the blanket closer to your chest. 

“Of course,” you said. You wished your voice had been more sure of itself, but your words were whispered. 

He took the money from you with the hand that was holding the bag, and shoved the cash into his pocket and zipped it this time. 

He looked back up at you. The red from the stoplight lit up his face. His eyes were blue, and he was so beautiful. The two of you, alone, on the sidewalk in front of your stoop, in the dead of night. It was intimate somehow. And for only a moment, he could have asked anything of you, and you would have brought down the world to do it for him. That fleeting intimacy of strangers, like the flicker of a stoplight. His face lit up green.

“Um, thanks again.” He said, and just like that it was over.

You nodded and took a step back towards your stoop. He turned around, almost uncertain, before continuing his way down the street. You watched him go, and wondered if you’d ever see him again.

— 

You sat on the stoop more often after that. Late at night, in the safety of the dark, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and just sat. This time of year, the nights were still chilly, and the wind sometimes harsh, but you loved it. Bathed in it. Come summer, even at this hour, there would be people outside. In and out and in and out of the corner store – walking every which way down the sidewalk, past your stoop. People stumbling into your mostly residential neighborhood having just left the bar two streets over. You felt less safe then. Visible. You’d look out your lone window and see people who didn’t even live on your street smoking or eating or talking too loudly too late at night. All sitting down there on your stoop. In the cold though, there wasn’t anybody. Nobody but you. 

It was three weeks before you saw him again. Three in the morning, and he wasn’t wearing a hat this time. His hair was blonde. Or not completely blonde, but also not entirely brown. A dirty blonde, you supposed. It was unsettling how even his hair gave you that feeling. The one told you he was something in between.

When he came out of the store this time, he wasn’t fumbling to put money away, but he had another bag of snacks, and was already biting into a Charleston Chew. He gave you a shy smile when he looked at you. Mouth full of nougat, he seemed almost embarrassed, and you smiled because you couldn’t help it, and gave him a little wave. He kept walking, and you watched him go, praying you’d see him again.

—

It was a week later when you saw him next. At 2:30 am he went in, bought a Charleston Chew, and smiled again when he walked by. His cheeks were rosy. It was cold that night, windier than most, and even after he walked past, you could see his breaths in the air. It was comforting somehow, and you felt content as you clutched the blanket closer to your body, and breathed out slow. Watched the air as your breath became nothing again. Alone, again, on the stoop, on the sidewalk, the stoplight flickered yellow and then red. You watched again and again as your breath appeared and disappeared and soon it was all you could focus on. You loved it, and you hated it, and you couldn’t stop watching the way your breath faded against the backdrop of a night sky. You were afraid if you stopped looking for even a moment that you too would disappear into nothing. 

You were so focused on breathing you didn’t notice the man. After all, you’d already seen him walk off that night. But he’d finished his walk, and his Charleston Chew, and he’d gone back to his apartment just to grab something before he left again. He hoped you’d still be outside by the time he made it back to your stoop. 

Usually, you noticed him long before he noticed you, but this time was different. You were breathing deeper than normal, and he watched you watch your breath. Snuggled up in a plaid fleece blanket, swimming in a much too large sweatshirt, and a notable pair of fuzzy socks covered in pictures of frogs playing the trombone. You were so beautiful.

The first time he saw you it was all he could think. How beautiful, and strange to meet you the way he did. Your cheeks were rosy, and your ears were red, and it was too cold out for you to be sitting outside, but there you were. And there he was, awoken from nightmares that never seemed to end, on a walk to the only shop around that’s been open since he was a kid. 

He couldn’t believe how stupid he looked in front of you that first night. He felt like a teenager, embarrassing himself in front of pretty girls like always. You were so beautiful. He wasn’t that scrawny kid anymore though, and for that one shining moment he felt like he _saw_ you. And like you saw him. But it was late, and they were strangers so he knew that brief moment of return was all he would get. He was grateful for even that much.

But the days flew by and by, and when he woke up in the middle of the night, he thought about you. Wondered if you were sitting in that same spot – blanket wrapped around you, hair undone. He knew it was better not to check, and he resisted the temptation for two weeks and six days longer than he thought he would. But he had to check. He had to see if you were there, if only to get a glimpse at you again. He’d go, buy some snacks, and just walk by. He didn’t even look in the direction of your stoop until after he’d left the store. Bated breath, biting into his candy, he finally looked at the stoop. There you were. Wrapped in a blanket, sat on the second step, just as he had pictured. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, and he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved to see you or embarrassed by the fact that he was so consumed with thoughts of a woman he hardly new that he was desperate to walk by the place he saw her, even if he wasn’t sure she’d be there this time. But there you were. And there he was. Your ears were red again. It was too cold out, and he wished you would put a hat on, or go inside, or wrap that blanket around your head or something. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t stop to sit or do anything at all but smile at you as he walked by. Your face was lit up green, and you smiled at him like you were happy to see him. You gave a little wave, and he thought about it for the rest of the night. He thought about it the next day, and the day after that, until finally he had to walk by again. He had to see if you were there. Just another glimpse, that’s all he wanted. 

He waited up that night. Didn’t even sleep, too eager or too anxious to see if you’d be on your stoop. He walked to the store, bought his candy bar, and when he left, there you were. Blanket around your shoulders, red ears, and my god you were so beautiful. He thought it every time he saw you. Comfy, and bundled, just as you were. He walked by and you smiled, and he smiled, and you gave that little wave and he felt like he’d won the lottery. 

He couldn’t help it though. This was the third time he’d seen you, the February winds harsh on your face, unkind to those out in the dead of night. It was always cold when he saw you, always dark, and he couldn’t help but worry. Your ears were always so red, and he wondered if you didn’t own a hat. You didn’t live in the nicest building after all, and maybe you couldn’t afford one, or maybe you just didn’t care, but he couldn’t stop. Without even thinking about it, he finished his walk home, walked inside, grabbed one of his hats, and left again. Back on the same route, back to you.

And when he got there, you didn’t see him. For the first time since that night you’d spoken, he could really look at you. The light turned yellow, then red. Green, and then yellow again. Over and over. He watched you watch your breath, focused on it like if you could just breathe the right way, it would stay still in the air. If only you breathed just right, you could pull it from the sky and hold it in your palms. A tangible piece of yourself, your very own creation. 

The light turned green and he said, “Excuse me, miss?”

Your eyes whipped to his, and he watched you stop breathing. He figured he should probably keep talking before he frightened you, but God, he was so nervous. He had not thought this through at all. 

“Um, I’m sorry if this is strange. I mean, it feels pretty strange, but I’m hoping it’s not as weird as I think it is. But, well, I see you when I come to the store sometimes, which you know. I was real grateful that night you let me know my cash slipped outta my pocket. But, well, it’s real cold out, and rightfully so, every time I see you, you’re all bundled up. I noticed though that you never have a hat on, and like I said it’s real cold out, and I was just worried, so I brought you this hat.” He rambled. He knew he was rambling. But she was so pretty, and he didn’t want to freak her out, even though the whole situation was so bizarre, and he just wanted to get it right. 

You blinked at him. Once, and then twice. Eyes glassy, touched by such unprecedented kindness you said, “What’s your name?”

He felt stupid when he realized he hadn’t told you yet, “Oh, um, I’m Steve. Nice to meet you, miss.” He stepped forward and reached out his hand for you to shake, before realizing his error – the hat was still in his hand. You watched him realize his own mistake as he pulled his hand back, but then thought that it was probably rude not to follow through, so he put his hand back out as if to shake before realizing again that he still hadn’t dealt with the hat. It was the most charming thing you’d ever seen.

You couldn’t keep in your giggle, and at the sound he stopped the internal dance he’d begun and looked right at you. He smiled, a little lopsided, like he just couldn’t help it and you felt like you’d been gifted the moon. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” He asked, and you nodded right away, desperate to share the same space. 

He didn’t sit too close, but you watched his breath go in and out, and knew that if he was any closer, that you would see the way your breaths fell into one another, and as subtly as possible, you scooched just a little closer. 

“I’m Y/N by the way.” You said. You spoke quietly, afraid that even a noise too loud would make this whole moment vanish. He would be gone, and you would be alone, on the stoop, watching your breath again. 

He smiled, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You looked away, unable to believe someone so handsome was smiling like that all for you, “It’s nice to meet you too, Steve.” 

It was quiet for a minute. The light flickered from red to green before he said, “So will you take it?”

You looked over at him. Saw his eyes, blue and honest – worried about so much. Wordlessly, you reached out for the hat, and he handed it over with a sigh of relief. It was black, and said “BROOKLYN” in white letters across the folded brim. You put it on and looked at him with a smile. 

You couldn’t help but ask, “Look nice?”

He shook his head and laughed a bit. He’d be seeing you more after tonight, he was just sure of it. Hopeful for the first time since he came out of the ice he said, “Looks real nice, doll. Looks real nice.”


End file.
